


A/Trophy

by dosymedia



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, Drugs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4730393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dosymedia/pseuds/dosymedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They knew Brian O’Connor was a lost cause by the powder dotting his nose, but the Torettos thought themselves saints of the wayward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A/Trophy

 

 

 

  


_Original photo by Mike Monaghan._

Atop the board he shivered from the water though the sun baked him in disparate bursts (or whenever the rolling clouds allowed its wrath to hammer upon the knots of his back). His fingers, pruned, grasped the board’s sides as he yielded for the small wave pawdling ahead of its mother, a giantess on the horizon. She was the one he waited for. The salt air crisp in his lungs, he breathed deep and then lowered his chest to the board’s head to paddle in long strokes. 

Roman didn’t like to swim. He hated the idea of surfing even more. He called it a white man’s folly, to chase wrath and to survive inside of it. Still, this was the best tribute he could conceive when he was so far from the desert crook that housed his remains. Three years passed since they buried him in Barstow. He hadn’t returned to his hometown since. The memories, numerable leeches, were too much, and Carter offered reprieve in the form of tedium. He couldn’t visit Roman’s grave last year because Carter was opening a club and Brian _had_ to attend the opening weekend. He couldn’t go the year before because Carter’s most trusted were on leave and he wouldn’t abide Brian traveling alone. He couldn’t go the year before _that_ because all of Florida was consumed by a hurricane that even Carter could not temper. 

And so he found a ritual most fitting for his old friend. For one day, he celebrated life: he ate richly, drank deeply, and savored beautiful company. But it all started with this: silence apart from the others, himself at the gully of death, and a moment to wake himself from the coffin that was his flesh and blood. Brian had to be present if he were to embrace the life Roman was cheated of. As he paddled for the wave that rolled towards him, his heart quickened, his eyes widened. Brian of the Dead was yawning now, he stretched his limbs above his head and cracked unused bones as the Husk-Brian stood up on his board. He entered the mammoth curl of ocean tide, splitting its base with the belly of his board as he navigated its basin, its cavernous temple closing in upon him as he cut across its floor for that halo of light, the promise of revival. Its outrage from this violation, a deafening roar that obliterated all thought, shirked Roman from his mind. Brian was alone, unbolted and now unfurling into lanky limbs. 

The halo turned into a ring within a single inhale; it completely collapsed as the mother enclosed its maw around him engulfing him into the dark thunder of her inner sanctum. He surrendered to thick walls of tide, melting first into its medial wall before the tide crashed upon his very head, it pushed him down, into the feudal underworld of the ocean where he saw the sun blink, haughty, in a glimmer. Slowly, he exhausted his air supply as he oriented himself: cragged rock beneath and sky above. A kick sent him upwards, towards the twilight mosaic of the water’s surface — the motion was impeded by a force below. The tie that kept his ankle firmly attached to his surf board jerked. 

He clutched the outflow of carbon dioxide fleeing from his nostrils, nearly inverting the process and breathing in the salt. He tried loosening the strap, but it was double-knotted and slipped in pruned fingers. So thin was the connection between himself and Roman — who thought that an irregular knot would deliver him to his friend’s side. His fingers knew what he could not say, could not allow into conscious thought. He tied the leash, hoping that this moment would come and that he’d succumb to a greater force to bury him under water as his brother was buried in earth so they could be together once more. Trapped beneath, he’d still and thus the confusion this life brought would slip into the bay, but Brian had a stubborn habit labelled as a will to survive. 

Just below, the board glistened like a flayed mango. He dove for it, fingers outstretched. One jerk, followed by an involuntarily exhale, and then another that only shimmied the longboard from the crag’s teeth. He set himself firmly on the ocean floor, bunching toes to grip the sand and then gritting heels into the floor, breaking calloused skin on jagged shells as he pushed the board’s tail against the sharp rocks it was caught between. The crack of the board’s spine was low and dulled by an oceanic lull, just as the roof of his Nissan moaned its grief into concrete… _The smell of gasoline overwhelmed him as the blur sharpened to something knowable: blood and soot sunk into the valleys between bones. He flexed his fingers, feeling stabs of pain run along each digit. His eyes moved on to the wheel. Then the windshield — gutted. Then the pine tree — swimming in glass. Then the hand that was not his own, palm up, and offering a blood drip to God. Lord, would you take this offering?_ Breath fleeting and salt and smoke flooding his mouth, he wretched from rocky bottom, past the empty undertow of passing tides to resurface, gasping upon breakinginto the clouded day. 

Life, he chose it once more. 

 The ocean carried him to the shore, pitying him. When the tide was only an ankle biter, he collapsed onto the ground, grasping a fistful of dry sand to smear into minute cuts. His arms too gave out, forcing him to roll onto his back. He spit the last of the ocean out and then laughed, a smile welcoming a wakened Brian to the surface. Eyes embraced sky and hands checked his pulse for life -- _still here, still living_. 

_Rome, emblazoned in twisted metal. Rome, now ash tossed into a casket._

Rome, here was one more -- _for you, my tribute; life_. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> About a year ago, I was perusing some fanfic challenges and came upon a bingo card for Harlequin romances. From it, this story sprung as a fill for trophy wife x pool boy, here seen as the trophy husband x chauffeur x maid. 
> 
> While this universe is an amalgamation of my perspective on all the films (with a hefty dose of original world building, of course), the early, street level films of the franchise are my favorites and are thus the primary sources of this story’s timeline. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!


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